


do not think

by progfox



Category: Katawa Shoujo
Genre: after the bad end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-20
Updated: 2012-02-20
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:39:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/progfox/pseuds/progfox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rin thinks about everything she shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	do not think

Do not think about dandelion wishes.

But Rin just stares at this painting, these dandelion flowers she's made with her paintbrush, and remembers when she'd hold the flowers in her toes and blow, watch the seeds fly away. And dream. She doesn't do enough of that, enough of anything. She spends almost all her time painting but it isn't enough. It isn't enough to create anymore.

And that thought hurts. It really hurts. She thought art would always be enough. That painting would be all she ever really needed.

It hurts to think she was wrong. Not because she always wants to be right but because for once, she thought she was.

* * *

Do not think about heart thingies. Do not think about the boy that has one.

But Rin is painting hearts. Sometimes all she can paint is hearts, anatomically correct in her strange, geometric style. She is not a fan of the symbol, that less-than-three rendition of such an important organ. It's not a heart to her, and it never will be. The only real heart is the muscle. The rush of blood through her veins, gushing to her cheeks on rare occasions, the way she thinks maybe she can hear it sometimes, but it might be in her head.

And thinking of hearts makes her think of him.

* * *

Do not think about heart thingies, do not think about the exhibition.

But Rin is all alone again, spending her days painting painting painting. She's alone and it's like back then, when all she did was sit in the atelier and paint. She barely slept, barely ate, barely lived. She was her paintbrush and her paintings and nothing less, nothing more. She was not the amazing armless painter, she was not anybody's friend.

She was the only one who expected anything of her.

* * *

Do not think about cigarettes. Do not think about him.

But Rin loves the smell of the smoke, curling in the air and filling the room. Filling everything. It's a beautiful thing, sort of; the smoke making everything hazy and harder to see, the light of the cigarette, he's holding the cigarette to her lips and lighting it for her and his name runs through her head over and over again.

Hisao Hisao Hisao. She thinks of when she last saw him, hugging him in the rain, his face as she said goodbye...she thinks of Hisao. Of smoke and Hisao and his heart, the arrythmic one and the metaphorical one.

No. Forget about Hisao. She told him she would.

Forget about him.

Do not think.


End file.
